


i wanna (put you on repeat)

by feeltripping



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feeltripping/pseuds/feeltripping
Summary: various tumblr prompts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i don't tag well and I want to have an archive of my work, even if it's all trash sin that I would actually die of shame over if anyone in real life found out about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 snapshots, semi-public sex, toppy Lexa

‘This isn’t my idea of a good time either,’ Anya snaps back at her. ‘for Lexa.’

‘For Lexa,’ Clarke agrees, and as if summoned, Lexa’s key turns in the lock. she comes in and Clarke lifts a hand in greeting, only half listening to Anya review their plans for a cross family luncheon that coming Sunday. _Anya_ she mouthes, and Lexa nods. 

‘--can Blaine--’

‘Bellamy,’ Clarke corrects, mild.

‘I don’t give a single flying shit. Can he sit by himself at the end of the table or does he need his sister close to cut up his meat for him?’

‘He can feed himself, I’m sure.’ Lexa comes up to her and bends for a kiss. Clarke catches her hand, swinging lightly, smiling. 

‘This is fucking dumb,’ Anya is muttering, ‘like we can’t just have people sit wherever, it’s not like it’s a wedding, Jesus. Lexa just wants to make us talk to each other.’

‘Right,’ Clarke agrees. her eyes go wide. Lexa is slipping to her knees, spreading Clarke’s legs with her hands. ‘I--uh, i think I have to go--’ Lexa touches a finger against her lips. She shakes her head. Clarke’s breathing picks up and she fights to keep it even. 

‘Why,’ Anya is demanding. ‘we still have to talk about drinks. In charge of drinks! Like we’re eight at Thanksgiving.’

‘Right,’ Clarke says again, mouth hanging open. Lexa fingers slide up her legs and draw her panties down. She’s smirking. ‘Drinks,’ Clarke fumbles, trying to find a thought that doesn’t involve how good it would feel to yank Lexa closer by the hair, her panties tossed aside. Lexa’s head disappears under her skirt, and Clarke feels her, kitten licking before spreading her open with clever slender fingers and pressing a sloppy open mouthed kiss against her. Clarke’s hips jump, hard, and she pulls the phone away from her ear to pant. She yanks her skirt up to see Lexa’s hair against her thighs, Lexa’s eyes flickering open, dark with want. She pauses, then grips Clarke’s knee, squeezing deliberately. Clarke sucks in a breath. ‘Beer,’ she says into the phone, completely unaware of whatever Anya had been saying. Lexa licks back into her, filthy, soft appreciative noises rumbled against her clit, her thigh. 

‘Indra doesn’t drink,’ Anya says, impatient. Clarke sinks her teeth into her wrist, her other hand dropping to the back of Lexa’s head. ‘I told you this before.’

‘Right.’ Clarke gasps. she shudders, sweat prickling on her skin, her face flushed. Lexa sucks on her clit and she jumps, sliding the chair an inch forward.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you,’ Anya demands. ‘Lexa asked us to plan this, can you just agree to buy some soda? I’ll get a pie or something.’

‘Right,’ Clarke says again, weak. 

‘You sound sick,’ Anya says, suspicious. ‘don’t cough on Lexa.’

Lexa bites Clarke’s thigh, then looks up through her lashes, swollen lips and shining chin, and Clarke manages another _right_ before she throws her phone aside and yanks Lexa closer with a growl, grinding hard on her face until she shudders, shaking. She shoves Lexa flat on her back and fucks her on the floor of the living room, making Lexa’s shouts echo in their apartment.

 

Lunch is Abby and Wells and Thelonious and kane and Indra and Gustus and Lincoln and Anya and Octavia and Bellamy, and Clarke and Octavia walk in together, grim faced and shoulders set. They’d invited Raven and she’d laughed for three straight minutes. She’d called Clarke the next day to laugh some more.

(Clarke dresses nice, flowery skirt and loose hair, thin flowy blouse, and accessorized while Lexa muttered, shifting anxiously by the door. ‘we are not showing up to my mother’s house early,’ Clarke says, ‘not if you don’t want this to end with matricide.’

‘And deny Indra the honor?’ Lexa had grinned when Clarke had swatted at her).

 

‘Jesus,’ Anya mutters when everyone has clomped in and is sitting in various chairs in Abby’s backyard. She and Clarke are pouring drinks in the kitchen, and they can hear the small talk, faintly pointed and incredibly stilted. Anya fishes a flask out of her pocket and takes a long swig before offering it to Clarke. 

‘We’re closer already,’ Clarke says, snatching it up and chugging until Anya wrests it back from her grip. ‘Lexa was right.’

‘Jesus,’ Anya says again, and leaves with a pitches of lemonade. 

 

They eat inside. Abby and Indra sit across from each other, glowering more than chewing, and Anya had thought Clarke had written down the seating chart and Clarke had been too busy leaning against the wall, knees buckled and eyes squeezed shut, a hand over her mouth while Lexa ate her out in the hallway to remember anything, so it’s random. Clarke almost elbows Octavia in the face throwing her under the bus to get out of sitting next to Thelonious, squeezing in against the wall at the edge of the table, near the end.  
The food is catered, thai noodles and spicy dumplings, and they all eat with the grim determination of a group of people committed to having too much food in their mouths to talk at all times. Kane starts a round of small talk, smiling cheerfully, and Lincoln responds, polite. They go through five minutes of facts about themselves everyone already knows, and Clarke is politely outlining a few of surgeries she’s performed lately when she feels Lexa’s hand on her thigh. she grabs it, holding it still with a forced smile ‘--and, you know. I keep busy. Octavia, don’t you--’

‘--what about that one from last week,’ Lexa interrupts. she smiles, wide and proud and darkly edges, pressing gently at Clarke through her panties. ‘sixteen hours, wasn’t it?’  
Lincoln makes a polite, interested noise. Anya yawns so hard her jaw cracks. Gustus adds an incredible amount of noodles to his plate and keeps his head down, shoveling. Indra looks thoughtfully at her table knife, and Octavia snatches it away to butter a roll. 

‘Ye-yes,’ Clarke says. she shivers. ‘sorry, it was--I got a chill.’ She picks up her glass of soda for a sip and purposefully jars her elbow against the tabletop, sending the liquid spilling into Lexa’s lap. She stands, abrupt. ‘Sorry,’ she says, grabbing Lexa hard by the wrist. ‘sorry, we better--you can borrow something of mine.’ She drags Lexa away and Lexa is making for the stairs, but Clarke grabs her, spinning her and pressing her against the wall. 

‘Shh,’ Clarke whispers. She undoes the button of Lexa’s pants, slow, and Lexa’s eyes go wide. They’re maybe six feet from the others, just hidden by the doorway into the hallway and the walls, and they can hear Bellamy’s weak attempt at a joke about pad thai, Octavia’s teasing response, the rumble of Lincoln’s laughter and Anya’s snicker. Lexa shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut as Clarke drags her zipper down and pulls her pants down and open, just enough Clarke can press two fingers into her, the panties shoved aside. Lexa makes a noise in her throat, panicked; her hand grips Clarke’s waist, pleading. 

It’s awkward and not as sexy as she’d like it to look, probably, but Clarke slips her own panties off, carefully stepping out of them and not letting her shoes thump on the floor. Anya is discussing her latest case, and Clarke is balling her panties up and tucking them into Lexa’s mouth, palm pressed hard to keep the gag in. Lexa makes a soft noise, eyes rolling back, and Clarke fingers her to orgasm right there, fast and dirty. 

Lexa does up her zip and button, eyes dark and pleased, and Clarke grabs a sweatshirt from a hanger in the hall closet, yanking it over Lexa’s head. Lexa draws Clarke’s fingers into her mouth and sucks them clean while Clarke pats at their hair, straightens their clothes. She takes her panties, damp from her orgasm and Lexa’s spit, and tucks them into her clutch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 times Clarke woke Lexa up and 1 time Lexa woke Clarke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three snapshots (strap on, fingering, anal, power bottom lexa, toppy clarke)

Clarke throws the door open, wrenching her keys free and storming inside, throwing her bag aside, stomping to the bedroom where Lexa pads out of the bathroom, yawning, in one of Clarke’s shirts and nothing else. Clarke crosses her arms and Lexa sits, face tilted up expectantly. Clarke starts ranting, and Lexa nods for few seconds before recognizing the tirade for what it is. She stands and strips off Clarke’s shirt, her bra. Clarke lifts her arms, obedient, but continues talking, the words briefly muffled when the shirt goes over her head. 

Lexa pulls down Clarke's pants, kneeling to slip off Clarke’s shoes, her socks, her underwear, until Clarke is naked. She's still complaining loudly about idiot patients, irritating misogynistic doctors, paperwork, traffic, her commute, her bruised apple from lunch, and she flails, furious and red cheeked, until she realizes that Lexa has slid a harness up her ups and buckled it, snug. She flicks Clarke’s rubber dick and Clarke goes silent with a snap of her teeth.

Lexa pushes her, laying her out on the bed on her back. “Scoot back.”

Clarke stares. Then she presses her palms against the mattress, braces her feet, and shoves herself up the bed. She exhales; Lexa straddles her. “When you get mad,” she murmurs in Clarke’s ear, with a sharp nip. “You get this look on your face.”

She sucks clarke’s nipple into her mouth, humming. Clarke moans, her hips twitching. “Shit,” she mutters. 

“I love seeing you passionate,” Lexa admits with a scrape of her teeth across Clarke’s collarbone. She shifts up, leaving a wet trail across Clarke’s belly, then leans a hand back to guide herself onto the dildo, hips shaking as she lifts up and then bears down, slow. She sucks a lip between her teeth and moans, soft. Clarke reaches up to trail her hands across lexa’s chest, flicking, down to her hips. She pulls Lexa down hard, abrupt, and Lexa’s squeeze shut as her spine bows. “Uhh,” she grunts, jolted. “Oh,” she breathes, eyelashes fluttering on her face. 

“Wanna see you–” Clarke starts, but Lexa slaps a palm over her mouth.

“Shh,” she murmurs, smiling soft, and Clarke pants wetly against Lexa's fingers, perfect pressure on her clit as Lexa rides her, head tipped back and a drowsy pleased curl playing on her lips. The bed creaks, faintly, and Clarke can hear Lexa breathing hard over her pulse pounding furiously in her ears.

++

Clarke wakes up with a comforting weight pressed against her; Lexa sleeping soft and warm and so pretty, bedhead and sleep in the corner of her eyes, a little drool on the pillow, faintly flushed, pink lipped, shirt ridden up and legs parted, splayed out against Clarke. Clarke rubs her spine, slowly shifting Lexa on top of her, pushing Lexa’s shirt and her own up so their chests can rub together. Clarke eases the mass of messy curls out of Lexa’s face and tucks it against her neck. She traces three circles in the small of Lexa’s back and then slides them lower, cupping her ass, trailing teasing fingers around her clit.

Lexa makes a soft low noise, twitching, and Clarke takes Lexa’s limp hand in her own. She slips two of Lexa’s fingers to where she wants them, arching faintly at the feel of Lexa inside her, still. Lexa’s fingers twitch and she moans. Lexa licks her lips, her tongue brushing Clarke’s neck, and mumbles something. Her fingers twitch again, curling. " _Clarke_ , she whispers, and CLarke lifts her hips, pleading. 

Lexa fucks her sleepy, lazy, soft, her teeth sank gently into Clarke’s throat and grinding on Clarke’s thigh.

++

Lexa always comes back quiet, but this morning Clarke is only dozing, and she opens her eyes when she hears the door. Lexa comes through to the bedroom, barefoot, lightly shining with sweat, still breathing hard, unwinding her headphones and tossing them and her phone onto the dresser with a soft thunk. She strips her top off with a quick shake, cracking her neck, and bends over to reach the bottom drawer. Clarke perks up. Lexa sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping, to peel off her leggings. Clarke wiggles over and licks the sweat out of the small of her back; Lexa looks back over her shoulder, smiling. Clarke wiggles a little more and rests her face on Lexa’s thigh, yawning. lexa traces Clarke’s cheek, cradling her jaw gently.

‘Let me shower,’ she murmurs, bending to kiss Clarke quick and soft. ‘I’ll make you breakfast.’

clarke has a line in mind, something about Lexa being her breakfast, but she yawns and Lexa slips away before Clarke can drag her down and ruin their sheets. Clarke sighs, stretching out before rolling up, freeing herself from the tangle of the sheets. 

The shower squeaks on and Clarke cracks her back, walking into the bathroom and brushing her teeth before sliding into the steam-filled shower stall. Lexa turns as she enters, smiling, and they kiss good morning, properly awake and hungry for lips and tongue and teeth. Lexa dips her head to rinse her hair, and Clarke crowds against her back, licking her shoulder and grimacing faintly at the taste of shampoo. Lexa murmurs, wordless, and her hand reaches back to grip Clarke’s thigh. There’s conditioner in her other hand, and she sways before starting to put it back. Clarke snags it from her hand.

‘I just,’ she mutters. She humps Lexa’s ass, playful and jarring and Lexa smiles, laughing softly as she jolts forehead. Clarke slips her fingers against Lexa’s cunt, teasing, and Lexa spreads her legs, shivers up her spine. ‘I want to fuck your ass,’ clarke says, dazed and sex drenched, heady with steam and heat and Lexa’s skin, her wetness slipping down her thighs from Clarke’s fingers.

Lexa freezes. then she exhales, her arms bracing against the wall and her back bowing, head dangling. 'Clarke.’

Clarke squeezes conditioner over her index and middle fingers, sloppy and uncoordinated; the bottle bangs so loud on the tile when she drops it they both jump. Clarke bites the back of Lexa’s neck, water rushing down on her face. She starts with the index, really slow, and Lexa shudders. Her mouth is open, stretched, and Clarke presses close, her thumb pressing on Lexa’s tongue, Lexa’s hips canted back hard against her weight. ‘So good,’ she breathes, and kisses Lexa’s neck. ‘Baby, so good.’

Lexa moans, soft, and then again, louder, when Clarke starts to twist and wriggle. By the time Lexa’s ready for a third finger she’s shaking continuously, feet sliding on the floor, noises dripping velvet from her slack mouth. 'Please.’

‘Touch yourself,’ Clarke orders, and has to catch Lexa around the waist when she comes, going abruptly boneless, her head coming dangerously close to smacking into the wall before Clarke yanks her back, almost upsetting them both.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> high as a kite sex, toppy lexa
> 
> (recreational drug use)

The roof is cold and they crouch against the little concrete wall, hands cupped as Lexa licks the paper shut and flicks her wrist, the lighter flickering orange and yellow heat over the joint, sealing it. 

She takes the first drag, the cherry flaring bright, ash fluttering away on the wind, and Clarke breathes in deep as Lexa blows out a billowing cloud, the sharp tang heavy in her nose and making her eyes water. She tries to pass it and Clarke shakes her head. Lexa quirks an eyebrow at her, the joint dangling between her thumb and index finger as she takes another hit. Clarke leans close, their shoulders pressed together, and Lexa tips the smoke into her mouth with her lips and her tongue, Clarke inhaling as Lexa exhales. 

_Clarke_ Lexa says, and licks her cheek, lazy and wet. Her eyes are already hazy, and by the time Clarke flicks the roach over the edge of the roof Lexa is loose, her jacket thrown aside. 

_Lexa_ Clarke teases. Lexa leans into her, nosing at her throat and growling when Clarke’s shirt gets between her skin and Lexa’s tongue; Clarke rolls another, hunched low to block the wind and muttering as she uses her pinky nail to pack the joint. _The light_ she says, poking at Lexa’s side, and Lexa mumbles, teeth dragging across Clarke’s jaw as she twists to fish the plastic lighter from her pocket. Clarke flicks her fingers--the drag of the wheel on her thumb, the firm click as it sparks and lights, the little shadows that dance behind the flame. 

She breathes two big drags into Lexa’s lungs, lips chapping, before she feels it hit all at once, time slowing down like an elastic band and then accelerating rapidly, and Lexa’s skin is so, so soft under her searching fingers, warm and silky and her eyes are greener, her soft noises more defined, more clear. Clarke feels like she’s floating, suddenly, Lexa’s hands the only things keeping her from rising up into the black black sky. Lexa takes the joint from her before she burns herself, killing it with a few long dragging hits that make her cough. 

Clarke lies down, feeling the coldness of the roof seep through the blanket they’d laid down and her clothes, refreshing against her flushed skin. Lexa stretches out next to her, and Clarke wiggles to lean her head on Lexa’s shoulder. It’s cold enough their breath puffs out white, and Lexa smells like weed and tobacco and the tangy fruity whiff of the swisher sweet in her pocket, and they roll on their sides to kiss, sloppy and uncoordinated, sliding past each other’s mouths and finding their way back slow and easy. Lexa splays a palm on Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, and Clarke shivers so hard and good her toes curl up. Tingles are racing up her calves and wrists, bright when she exhales, and she imagines the flush of oxygen rushing through her blood, faster as her heart quickens and her breath goes jagged, her veins expanding and her pulse fluttering.

 _Naked_ she says, muffled against Lexa’s lips, and Lexa rises, backlight by the dim streetlights and the faint glow of the moon, undressing Clarke slow and careful before dragging her nails down Clarke’s body until she arches up, toes pointed. She curls her fingers in the hem of her own shirt and Clarke grabs her wrist. She shakes her head, lip stuck out, and Lexa smiles, indulgent. She slides down Clarke’s body and the first touch of her tongue makes Clarke twist her head to the side, going taut. She clenches her hands in Lexa’s hair and rides her face, sloppy and lit on fire and humming in the best way. It takes her ages to come, and Lexa never stops, jaw working, tongue flicking, wet suckling noises, obscene. She feels flung out, her orgasm lasting an eternity inside a minute.

 _Lexa_ Clarke says, mouth slack. She thinks she might be drooling. 

_Clarke_ Lexa responds, and strips. They sit naked and entwined and drip little sips from Clarke’s flask until it drips empty on their tongues, the burn of the liquor keeping them warm. Clarke rolls on the blanket, feeling the itch of the fuzz, and pushes herself to her hands and knees. She tips her head up and to the side and Lexa is already pressed against her back, ready for her kiss, deep and filthy, Lexa biting Clarke’s lip as she pulls away. Her fingers go into Clarke in a smooth glide, and Clarke clenches around her, listening to Lexa pant as she moves, her hips knocking into Clarke’s ass with every full body thrust, her forearm locked up, fingers curling. She collapses and Lexa flips her, settling a knee against her clit and rocking until Clarke arches again. She’s too loose, too soft and fucked out and little waves of sound and light in her vision, too spaced out to cry out, but she murmurs something, some nonsense, her words out of reach.

Lexa slurps her fingers clean and Clarke sucks on her tongue, tasting herself until she can’t anymore, until it fades to alcohol, sharp and burning, and the bitter aftertaste of smoke, harsh. One more Lexa asks, and Clarke tips her head back with a soft smile, spreading her legs and watching for shooting stars while Lexa kneels back between her legs, spine bowed, and licks her gently, insistently, relentlessly, until--

 _Oh_ is all Clarke says, letting her eyes flutter shut. She goes limp, her body clenching in the sweetest way. _Lexa_

 _Lexa_ straddles her thigh, pulling it up to a position she can grind against. Clarke she says after a few minutes, almost surprised, and comes, collapsing into a warm, heavy weight on top of her, chest heaving.


	4. good mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse at an ordinary morning. Fluff and only a hint of NSFW.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot bunny from tumblr user shakwilde

“Well,” Clarke says, leaning in the doorway and raising an eyebrow. “Should I call my lawyer?”

Lexa doesn’t even flicker her eyes, focused on the makeup brush and her reflection in the mirror. “I’m your lawyer.”

“A divorce lawyer. I’m implying that you’re cheating on me.”

Lexa leans back and surveys herself. She’s wearing a black dress with dark hose and her hair piled up, thick straps and the hem to her knee but still somehow scandalous. “I understood the joke. And we aren’t married.”

Clarke shucks her scrub top and walks out of her pants, hopping slightly to free her ankle from the cuff. “I thought you had negotiations today.”

“I do.” Lexa moves out of her way, fluid, and goes into the bedroom. Clarke hears the closet open, Lexa’s voice gone faintly muffled. “Opposing counsel is a classic sexist.”

“So your plan is to… sleep with him.” Clarke cranks the shower on, yanking the curtain shut to avoid being sprayed. She undoes her bra one handed and tosses it on the tiled floor in the general direction of the hamper.

Called by Clarke’s bare torso, Lexa appears at the doorway to oogle her. “The more he underestimates me, the easier this case will be.”

“Mm.” Clarke slips out of her underwear. “And if I don’t wake from the coma I’m definitely about to collapse into, at least I know you have options.”

“Options,” Lexa repeats. She steps a little closer, her bare stockinged feet whispering on the tile.

“To keep you in the lifestyle you’ve been accustomed to.” Lexa smiles, amused and fond and loving and a hundred other things. Clarke snags a tissue from the box on the counter. “Blot?”

Lexa hesitates. Then she exhales, soft, the smile still curling her lips, and crosses the small room. She reaches for he tissue and Clarke catches her by the wrist. Lexa goes pliant, letting Clarke manhandle her, hips pressed against the counter, her ass snug against Clarke’s thighs. Her eyes meet Clarke’s in the mirror. Clarke can see her pulse flutter in her throat, the quickened rise and fall of her chest. “Clarke,” she murmurs, low and rough.

Clarke noses at the side of her neck, sighing to watch Lexa shiver at the sensation. “You should wear your hair down. You look too classy with it up, too put together. He’ll think less of you if you let it down.”

“You think-” Lexa’s voice cuts off when Clarke sets her teeth at her shoulder. “No marks,” she mutters, but her head tips sideways, allowing Clarke more access.

Clarke growls a little, clenching down gently before releasing Lexa’s skin, staying close to breathe in Lexa’s subtle perfume. She nuzzles against Lexa shoulder, her neck, under her ear, her other hand undoing Lexa’s fancy knot. Her hair tumbles out in gentle waves, releasing the soft floral scent of her shampoo. Clarke lets the pins fall, plinking on the porcelain and the floor. She releases Lexa’s wrist to crawl up the back of her leg under her dress, cupping Lexa’s ass possessively, then gripping until Lexa’s breath hitches. “You’re gonna do so well,” she croons, before closing her teeth around Lexa’s earlobe. “They won’t know what hit them.”

Lexa turns her head, dipping towards Clarke’s lips. Clarke pulls away very slightly and Lexa makes a noise, protesting. “Clarke…”

“It’ll smudge your lipstick.”

“I’ll fix it in the car,” Lexa says, and they kiss, messy and thorough. Clarke can feel the colour smudged on her cheek. Clarke breaks it when Lexa bears in closer, grinding backwards.

“Look,” she says, when Lexa grumbles. Lexa watches her in the mirror, Clarke’s fingers creeping up to her throat and gripping tight. Clarke licks up the shell of her ear and rumbles in her chest. “Be good today,” she murmurs, right in Lexa’s ear. Then she releases, sliding behind Lexa’s body and slipping into the shower.

“Tease,” Lexa says, after a moment, and Clarke smiles into the spray, ducking her face into the hot water.


	5. drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Clarke doesn't trust Lexa's fealty vow, so Lexa offers herself. 
> 
> Light angst, canonverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no beta

Clarke gets drunk at the celebration. It’s a mistake she knows she’s making as she’s making it. 

She manages to stop herself before she gets blackout or messy with it, but not before she finds herself in Lexa’s room, staring at the blur of the candles as her gaze slides out of focus.

“Clarke,” she hears, and blinks twice: Lexa appears, blurred and then crystalline, in front of her, face bare, pants and that soft grey shirt that bares her shoulders, ribbed to tuck into her waist before her belt offsets it. 

“Lexa,” she greets, after another moment passes. “You’re here.”

“I am.” Lexa moves around her, and Clarke refuses to turn even as it raises the hair on the back of her neck to hold her ground with a predator so close by, out of sight. She hears the door shut. “As are you.”

Clarke shrugs. She’s still got a drink in her hand, and she swigs it back, finishing it. Lets it fall from her hand and thump to the floor. “Are you drunk?”

Lexa comes back into view, shadow eyed and cat footed. “Are you?”

Clarke considers the question. “Yes,” she decides. “But just enough not to be diplomatic. My decisions aren’t impaired.”

Lexa nods, slowly. Her hands clasp behind her back. “And what decision are you making now?”

“Confrontation.” Clarke juts her chin out in a challenge. “I don't believe your promises.”

“Which?”

“Fealty,” Clarke says shortly. “Your word means nothing to me, or my people.”

Lexa is silent, head tilted.

“Nothing to say?” Clarke pushes, her anger surging and nowhere to go with it. “No defense?”

Lexa lifts a shoulder. She turns her back on Clarke and walks away, through the small doorway leading into another room, a balcony. The curtain billows behind her. 

Clarke stands there, heart thundering, pulse racing. Fists clenched and breathing hard; it’s an easy decision to storm after her, grab her by the wrist and spin her around. She feels Lexa flex, sees her eyes narrow as she makes her own decision: to break Clarke’s wrist or acquiesce. In the end she turns, shoulders squared and jaw set. “What defense would you have me give? All there is, Clarke, is time. Time for you to see that I mean what I’ve said. That I will keep my oath. Your people are my people, you are my ambassador. You are under my protection.”

“Not good enough.”

“Nothing in this life is good enough,” Lexa says. “It is what it is.”

Clarke gets in her face, lip pulled back in a snarl. “Not. Good. Enough.”

Lexa’s eyes flicker. “And what would be, Clarke of the Sky People? Name the price I’m to pay.”

Clarke remembers their kiss, what Lexa’s jacket felt like under her fingers, her nose brushing against Clarke’s. “You,” she blurts, the alcohol making her honest. “You,” she repeats, sounding surprised at herself. “You are my price.”

Lexa lets the silence drag on for a full minute, and then another, nothing except the wind and how it makes the candles shudder. Nothing but the moon hanging low in the sky and the clouds rolling over the stars. “Accepted.”

Clarke blinks. “I--what?”

“I accept your bargain.” Lexa turns on her heel. She holds the curtain back for Clarke. “Or have you already changed your mind?”

Clarke snarls. She stalks back into the bedroom, and Lexa follows. She scoops the bottle up and drains the vestiges from it, sets it down on the table and feels at a loss. Lexa stands beside her bed, patient. It’s infuriating. “Take of your pants,” Clarke orders, hating the waver in her voice. 

Lexa’s belt is loud, the leather through the metal buckle. It clunks against the side of the bed on its way to the floor. Lexa sits on her bed to take off her socks, peeling them away one and then other. She stands again. Her pants drop beside her belt, her eyebrow arches in challenge. Clarke steps closer, her boot dragging on the furs that carpet the floor. “Lie down.”

Lexa lays back, feet still on the floor, hair spread out on the linen. Clarke straddles her. Feels the leanness of her, the wire strength under her skin. And the softness, when her fingers skim Lexa’s belly, her ribcage, undoing the ties of her shirt around her neck and peeling it away. It’s too much, too soft, Lexa’s calm eyes and the flutter of her pulse in her throat, where Clarke once held a knife with the intention to make her bleed, make her hurt. And her hands betray her, cradling the points of Lexa’s hips, smoothing over the scars of battles past fought and the sharp lines of dark ink on tan skin, touching the silk curls of Lexa’s hair. It’s too much.

“Flip over,” she orders, her voice rasping, her eyes wet. Lexa’s hand touches her cheek, the calluses on her fingers, the steadiness of her palm. 

“We all have prices to pay,” Lexa says, and when Clarke presses into the touch she releases it, her hand dropping to the mattress. She turns onto her belly, using her folded arms as a pillow. 

Clarke’s hands shake when she peels Lexa’s underthings away. She looks for a long time, the tattoos on Lexa’s spine, the ripple of the muscles of her back as she moves to the rhythm of Clarke’s fingers. Clarke lays her cheek on Lexa’s shoulder, her elbow cramping; she is weak and she proves it with the kiss to Lexa’s nape. Her own weakness enrages her more, breaks her more, than anything Lexa has ever done; the acknowledgment of Mt. Weather and the things she’s done, the blood on her hands and how Lexa, who’s she’s blamed every since the felt the lever against her fingers, is all the peace Clarke’s world will ever have. It devours.

She leans back, her thumb pressing against Lexa. “We all have prices to pay,” she echoes, and gives in.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @ feeltripping


End file.
